


Her Own

by pantswarrior



Category: Suikoden V
Genre: Angst, Comfort Sex, Community: areyougame, F/M, Magic, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:45:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arshtat is the name of a woman, not a rune.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Own

It could see the treason there, sleeping in their eyes. The eyes of those sworn to serve it - even they could not be trusted. They were no threat, of course. They were only mortals, frail and fragile, easily broken. That was why their thoughts turned to betrayal; they were afraid, and fear turned to distrust, and distrust turned to hate. If it turned its back for a moment, any one of them might just strike.

If it did not strike first.

Perhaps at the one who stood, giving a meaningful look to the other rebels. The ringleader, of course, it knew that much, and it rose also as the man opened his mouth to speak.

" _Arshtat._ "

...Yes, that was its name. 

_Her_ name. 

Not an it. A her. A woman, not a Rune. 

She exhaled, falling back into her seat. There were sounds - not the sounds of desertion. Her Knights were leaving, yes, but at his unspoken direction. He was no rebel, but a savior.

She wondered if he could possibly have comprehended what he was to her. At times such as these, she thought that she would no longer exist, if not for him.

"Arshtat," he murmured once they were alone, gently this time. It was unnecessary. Just a word from him could call her back.

"I'm all right," she replied, trying to remember how to use her own throat. Her own mind... "I'm here. I'm here..."

"It's all right," he told her, rounding the table to reach her side, his eyes full of concern. Reassuring, and seeking reassurance. "You did nothing wrong."

"I did nothing at all," she murmured, and her voice cracked a little on the last word as she let herself slump into his opening arms.

"...I know." He rubbed her back, kissed her neck. _Her_ neck. "I know it's not you."

"Ferid..." It came out almost a whimper.

"Shh." He held her like a frightened child, like he would have held one of their own children, and rocked her gently. And he was right. There was nothing she needed to say. It had already been discussed, and though it grew ever worse, there was nothing new or unexpected about it. He knew how terrified she was of losing herself.

He knew her well, even well enough to know what she was asking when she murmured his name again. The Knights were gone, but they could have returned; meanwhile, their chambers were only a few steps away. He swept her up in his arms - and once that had unnerved her, unfamiliar as she had been with the prospect of being at someone else's mercy, and these last months had shown her just how terrible such a thing could be.

But being at _his_ mercy was mercy indeed.

"Ferid," she murmured again, after he'd kicked the door closed, as he laid her out across their bed, her robes of state trailing down onto the floor. "Ferid..."

"Arshtat," he murmured in reply, kneeling over her, bending down to kiss her neck, and her collarbone, and her breast where he pulled aside the folds of her robes. She relished the sensations that passed through her body - the shift of her hips, the curl of her toes. Her toes. Her hips. Not the Rune's. Hers.

It was her fingers that rose to grasp his hair, combing through it and then holding on. Her thighs that parted instinctively, her back that arched as his hand found her knee beneath the layers of fabric and stroked upwards. Her body belonged to her, and her alone - but for the fact she'd granted it to him as well, of her own volition. It was the same for him - his body belonged to her, and now she needed it.

She was too desperate, too eager to prove herself to wait for the robes and uniforms to be fully removed. Her fingers had more important, _urgent_ tasks than unbuckling and untying, and trembled as she attempted to do what was necessary. He understood, and likewise did only the bare minimum, loosening laces and simply pushing the garments aside until their bodies could find one another.

They would have looked scandalous to an observer - their half-dressed, frantic joining more befitting a whore and an impatient client, or a pair of beasts in heat, rather than a queen and her king. But in that moment, she didn't want to be queen, and she needed no king.

She needed a man named Ferid, who loved and served a woman named Arshtat with body and soul, and she was merely Arshtat.

She was merely Arshtat.


End file.
